


changing seasons [castiel au]

by twobirds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Eventual Smut, F/M, Little bit of angst though, Professor Castiel, Professor Dean Winchester, Professor Sam Winchester, Shakespeare is everywhere, Supernatural AU - Freeform, kinda cheesy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:25:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4946641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirds/pseuds/twobirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's how it works, isn't it? After years of searching - years of hurt - the medicine for your soul ends up where you least expected it. Forbidden, just out of reach. A persistent itch that acts as a constant reminder of loss and love.</p>
<p>Shakespeare himself wrote, "Journeys end in lovers meeting, every wise man's son doth know."<br/>If only we could be so lucky. </p>
<p>He was supposed to be a dream. A stranger in a coffee shop. <br/>Suddenly, he was't such a memory. Flesh and blood, he stood at the front of my class.<br/>But I didn't miss the way his haunted eyes followed me.<br/>The way his tongue danced over his lips.<br/>The fire in his eyes. </p>
<p>She made me believe in fate. <br/>She was an angel, sent from the skies to purge the darkness from my soul.<br/>I'd be damned if I let her go. I couldn't. Not after finding her. <br/>She's supposed to be my best kept secret - just until the semester ends. </p>
<p>But what's a good Shakespearean tragedy without broken vows and heartache?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try to work on this when I can, but I have deadlines crashing down around me. Professor Cas is my favorite. Also, my summary ended up sounding way angrier and darker than I plan on having this. There will definitely be forbidden love/past hurt/yadda yadda ya, but I don't intend on having this super soul crushing.

**Prologue**

 

I was officially one of _those_ people.

The ones who are running late but still stop and get coffee. The ones who stroll into class after lecture starts with a donut in one hand and a quad shot in the other. The ones who everyone – myself included – get totally pissed off at.

Yeah, I was that person. On the third day of class of my last year of grad school.

I opted to go to a coffee shop off campus, thinking it would be less congested. It wasn’t. In fact, the small local joint seemed to be overflowing with customers. I kept my nose buried in my phone trying to keep my sanity while the line moved at a glacial pace. By the time I placed my order, I knew I was going to be late to my three hour evening seminar on ‘Nature, Language, and Love’. I had ten minutes to get my drink, drive to campus, park, and walk to my building. Luckily, it was a professor I was friendly with and I knew she’d give me grief but not be too upset with me.

When I finally got my fancy latte with a few too many extra shots of espresso in it, I made a pit stop at the far counter that held the assortment of sugars, milks, and paper products. In a hurry, I made a wild grab for a biodegradable sleeve and a few napkins.

“Oh, sorry.”

My hand collided with another at the napkin dispensary. Instinctually, I drew back, nearly knocking my drink over in the process. I was on the verge of dishing out my own apology when I looked up and put a face to the gritty, masculine voice that spoke moments before.

To say he was handsome was an understatement – but he didn’t have model good looks that belonged in a magazine. No, his features were dark and brooding. Intelligent and pensive. Completely sexy. His dark hair was trimmed short, and a light dusting of stubble covered his face. Underneath his swirling dark hurricane eyes, set deeply into his head, were dark circles, but they didn’t take away from his appeal. The tiniest heart shaped his otherwise thin lips. He was dressed conservatively in a button down, rolled to the sleeve, and fitted tan pants. A leather messenger bag was hoisted over one shoulder. He was older than me, but he still looked relatively young.

After six years at the same small liberal arts college, I knew or knew of basically every professor on campus. The man standing next to me wasn’t one of them, though he definitely looked like he played the role.

Knowing I was staring, probably with a little drool hanging from the corner of my mouth, I blushed and attempted to stammer out a string of words. “Uh, it’s fine. My fault, actually. So sorry about that.”

His mouth quirked to the side in a faint smile and our eyes met, sending electric currents to my soul. “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.” Without skipping a beat, I tossed a Shakespearian quote of my own in his direction. I snorted in a very un-lady like fashion. Of course, the handsome man at the coffee shop would be using popular lines from medieval European literature to pick up women.

I gripped my cup and dipped away before he could comb through his basic, introductory level Brit Lit memory and try to quote something else. Sheppard University was overrun with the artsy type who thought they could use flowery poetry, poorly played guitar, and hip getups to win women. Harvard – which was full of even more pretentious fools – was just a forty minute drive from our campus, if you were more interested in the Ivy League bull.

“That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man!”

I looked over my shoulder. The man was leaning against the counter, amusement and _want_ in his eyes. I gripped my cup to keep it from slipping out of my hand. Why had he used that passage? And not finished it? I didn’t have time to think too much into it. I didn’t have time to think about him – his word games or the rakish appeal of his dark features.

“If with his tongue he cannot win a woman,” I finished idly, my hand already opening the front door. I needed air. I needed to get to class.

I needed to convince myself the stranger in the coffee shop with sad eyes and lips made for sin only quoted Shakespeare to pick up women who were easily captivated by the flow of the poetry.

Needed to convince myself _I wasn’t one of those girls._

Needed to convince myself _he wasn’t one of those men._

Needed to get to class.


	2. Chapter 2

It was already five weeks into the semester, and I was ready to torch my office and hibernate for a few dozen years. I stood in the front of a lecture hall, staring at the clock and drowning out the chit chat of the graduate students that surrounded me. They weren’t even my students. I was speaking at Sheppard University, a small private arts school a few miles away from Harvard – the school where I taught. A few hours out of my night to talk about courtly love and Chaucer to repay an old friend. It didn’t seem like much at the time, but now that I stood waiting to start, I realized there were a million other things I could be doing.

“Two minutes and the door closes,” Dina, the professor of the class, announced.

A voice somewhere in the middle of the room exclaimed frantically, “Ashley is on her way! There was a moped accident on Main Street.”

The class erupted in conversation. Overlapping voices gave me a headache. Grimacing, I turned down to my notes and shuffled them anxiously. Whoever Ashley was, she was going to be locked out in less than one hundred and twenty seconds and I wasn’t going to let her in.

“A moped accident? Who the hell rides mopeds anymore?”

“Wait? A moped? My housemate’s boyfriend rides a moped? Was it red?”

“There probably wasn’t even an accident.”

“Ashley is – ”

A new voice echoed from outside the room, “Right here! Ashley is right here. There was too an accident, Trevor. What kind of asshole makes up an accident to excuse an absence? Not I, said the little bird.”

“The little bird is about to be locked out,” Dina clucked.

I was prepared for a tiny, bubbly blonde. A former sorority girl. A mousy little thing with big glasses. A forty year old woman with two kids and a dog. Hell, I was prepared for anyone but _her_.

The girl from the coffee shop.

When I first saw her, I didn’t think she could be any more stunning. She was an angel, cutting through all the bullshit. Wearing a black blouse and polka dotted pants with her whiskey colored locks in loose, uniform rings around her face, she was a vision. I dreamed about her face for two weeks straight. The caramel speckles in her big, green eyes that made them look like candy apples. Her cheeks were round, tinted red with embarrassment. She had lips that were made for kissing and a button nose that had me itching to write fucking poetry. She was beautiful. But what drew me to her was the way she sprouted off Shakespeare, throwing my words back at me. Her words cemented me to the ground, and by the time I got to the parking lot to chase after her, she was gone.

Fate was a fickle, fickle fool.

My coffee shop angel – _Ashley_ – was in front of me again. And again, she looked good enough to eat. She wore a dark floral dress under a denim coat, and rising from her combat boots were knee high socks. She blinked a few times at me, those doe eyes growing even larger with recognition. In the blink of an eye, time dragged to a stop before roaring back to life. She blushed and held her bag closer to her body as she hustled to take a seat in the middle of the hall.

Dina closed the two doors that funneled into the room and clapped her hands together. “Okay! I think we’re all here, which is great because we have a special guest tonight. Professor Novak is a scholar at Harvard with a focus on Medieval and Early Modern Literature. We attended the same conference in London this past summer where he gave a fantastic presentation on the ethics of courtly love. Today, he’s going to give us a preview of his upcoming book ‘Lovesickness in Early Modern Literature’. The material he presents today will be fair game for tests, so please pay attention. Professor Novak.”

“Hello,” I greeted. I organized my papers on the podium one more time before clearing my throat and walking towards the massive wall of whiteboards. I scribbled my name to the side and started jotting down the key points of the beginning of my lecture. “Tonight I’m going to be discussing physiological constructions of love in Early Modern England in relation to the idea of love and gender. Throughout literature – Early Modern, especially – we see examples of lovers who burn with passion and die of heartbreak. Some just waste away. Love is seen as a medicine… a cure. This, of course, isn’t a novel concept to the time. These formulaic metaphors go back to classical literature. We see Homer called eros a disease and madness, and Plato calls sexual love a disease of the soul. The Renaissance comes with a particular brand of melancholic lovers that makes it a unique and frankly, fascinating period to study as a scholar of language.

“Lovesickness – known as heroical love, erotic melancholy, and erotmania – was a genuine physiological malady that caused physical harm and sometimes even death. Men and women went to their doctors in flocks with self-diagnosed lovesickness. Gender roles during the Renaissance were, as we all know, primitive and patriarchal. I will dive into this at a later point, discussing the different documentations of men and women with lovesickness. Ophelia, from Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_ is thought to have suffered from ‘hysterical illness’. I could dedicate an entire semester’s seminar to Ophelia and gender roles, but we only have three hours tonight and I want to get through as much as possible, so that will go on the backburner. My book will feature a few articles on the topic, particular ‘disorders of the womb’, virginity, and the expectations of men and women in the time period.”

I got lost in my lecture, finding it easier to divert my eyes from Ashley as the minutes ticked by. And though it was easier to keep my eyes focused on everything but her, she was there in the back of my mind. I hadn’t had butterflies in years… not since Tabitha… but knowing Ashley was watching me speak had my stomach in knots. I was a fucking Oxford trained scholar with a tenured position at Harvard at the age of only thirty seven and I had butterflies because of a woman that was completely off limits.

But was she? She was a student, but she wasn’t _my_ student. After knowing (and fending off her advances) for years, this was the first time I ever took Dina up on an offer to speak in front of one of her classes. Probably the last. The chances of running into Ashley again in an educational setting were slim to none. She went to Sheppard; I taught at Harvard. There weren’t any rules against that. Even if there were, teacher/student relationships were hardly out of the norm. Unprofessional, but they were as common as dirt. Dean found every loophole he could and worked his way through half the sororities on campus. It was possible.

_Seriously, man? You’re ready to call Dean to look for loopholes so you can fuck a girl who has only ever really insulted you through Shakespearian prose?_ Hell yeah I was.

I wanted to do more than fuck Ashley. I wanted memorize every curve of her body with my tongue. I wanted to spend hours lost in the sheets with her, whispering sweet words into her ear. I wanted to worship her.

Tabitha’s black cloud would always hover above me, but being in a room with Ashley for a few hours already lightened the load on my soul. She was an angel, and I deserved to feel her grace. For the first time in a long time I wanted to feel the warmth of another human soul, not just a body.

After three long hours, my voice was hoarse and my heart was heavy. Dina chatted briefly with the class, spouting off something or other about an email and a paper. It was white noise. I itched to talk to Ashley. I shuffled my things into my bag along with the students, just as eager to get out of the room as they were. It was nine pm on a Wednesday night, and we all had better places to be than an oversized lecture hall.

“Great lecture, Castiel, “Dina beamed, tilting her body towards mine. “I knew you’d do wonderful. I’m so glad you agreed to speak this year.”

My eyes darted around the room searching for Ashley. She wasn’t there. “You know it was a one-time thing, Dina.” I was talking about more than my lecture. “Look, I need to go. It’s a long drive back to Cambridge.”

“Of course.” She wetted her lips and reached an arm out, resting it on my elbow. “It doesn’t have to be a one-time thing, you know.”

“My schedule is busy. I’ll get back to you.”

Dina was pretty. Red hair, eyes the color of bitter chocolate. Her pale skin flushed beautifully when she came. I slept with her while at a conference in Chicago, and over the years she never skipped an opportunity to tell me we could have a repeat. I’d been tempted, once or twice, but I knew another dark hotel room with her would give her hope. I couldn’t offer her more than few orgasms. We both knew that, but it didn’t keep her from trying.

I brushed her aside and grabbed my satchel and jacket, hurrying outside. Sheppard was a small university, but I had only been there a handful of times and the place was still like a maze. Luckily, the English department was close to a parking lot.

It was late enough that the only cars belonged to the graduate students with late seminars and the professors who taught them. I scanned the area under the bright lights of the lamps searching for the flash of honey hair and long legs. Maybe she walked? She’d be long gone by now if she was on foot. I grunted and kicked at the ground, the tip of shiny leather shoe scuffing in the dirt.

The stars gave me two chances at Ashley, and both times, she got away.

Feeling like the lovesick fools I had just spent hours talking about, I sulked to my car. I didn’t have any lectures on Thursdays, and the only thing keeping me from calling up Dean and Sam an telling them to meet me at _Bobby’s Bar_ was the knowledge that they did, in fact, have to teach the next day. Dean wouldn’t mind, but I knew Sam hated going in with a hangover. In our youth, it was nothing to toss a few back and get bleary eyed before going to class or even teaching. We were all nearing the forty mark, though, and it was wearing on us in different ways.

I unlocked my Lexus and tossed my bag and jacket into the backseat. The luxury vehicle was way too yuppie for my tastes, but it fit in with the rest of the cars parked in the staff lots at the university.

The sound of feminine laughter in the distance made my head snap up so quickly I thought I’d get whiplash. I held my breath. _Third chance._ There she was. Ashley stood, bathed in harsh lamp post light, waving goodbye to one of the other students in class. I looked down at my car and then back up at her, trying to decide if chasing her down was worth it. I wasn’t fragile by any means, but a rejection would probably make me go crawling to Dina’s office to lick my wounds.

“Screw it,” I muttered under my breath. I shoved my hands in my pockets and strolled casually across the almost empty lot towards a shiny black Kia Soul. “Ashley?”

She tensed for a second, and I regretted walking over. But when she turned around, she wore a shy smile. “Um, hi, professor.”

“Castiel, please.”

“Cassiel? Like the archangel?”

“ _Cas-tee-el._ Close.”

“Castiel.” She tested my name, and damn… it sounded so good on her lips. Her head nodded in approval. “Okay _Castiel_ , fancy meeting you here. I thought you looked like a professor, but I knew you weren’t one at Sheppard.”

“Do I look that boring?” I teased.

She blushed, “No. You just look… serious. Pensive. Scholarly. The offhand memorization of Shakespeare makes sense now.”

Her words sounded like compliments, so I took them as such. Breathing the same air as her made my chest ache. I wanted to reach out and touch her – brush the loose strand of hair out of her face.

“Would it be too presumptuous to ask you to dinner?”

The corners of her mouth fell and her smile disappeared, along with the hope in my chest. “Professor Novak – Castiel – I don’t know… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

I winced. She immediately drew back to the professor card. “I don’t teach here.”

“This is my final year of grad school. I can’t risk getting kicked out for fraternization – ”

“I don’t teach here,” I said again, reminding her of the small fact she seemed to have forgotten. “Your dissertation won’t come near me or my board. It’s okay to say no to dinner. I had to try. I looked for you outside the coffee shop, but you were gone.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I never thought I’d see you again. Tonight was a second chance. We can just grab coffee sometime, if that is more your pace. I just knew I couldn’t drive home tonight without asking you.”

I waited, watching the changing emotions on her face. How long had it been since I was on edge waiting for an answer from a woman about anything? Ashley was dangerous. So fucking dangerous. I needed to walk back to my boring, fancy car and drive to my overpriced condo. I needed safe space. I needed –

“Okay. Dinner would be nice.”

I blinked a few times. Her words registered slowly, but when they did, I let out a sigh of relief. “Fantastic. When are you free? We can exchange numbers.”

“Right now.”

“Excuse me? What?”

She flashed me a gorgeous smile. “Right now. Let’s get dinner right now.”

“At nine thirty at night? I want to take you somewhere nice, Ashley.”

“I don’t need wine menus and tiny portions. I know this diner a few blocks away that’s open until three. I’d like to take you there.” Her confident smile ticked down a few notches. “Unless you have an early class? I don’t want to keep you out late.”

I squeezed my hand to keep from reaching out and capturing her face. She deserved winy menus and tiny ass portions. She deserved more than me. But for the first time in a long time, I felt more than darkness in my heart. I could hear. I could smell. And fuck, could I see. I could see too much. Ashley was a ray of sunshine. I’d end up being the cloudy storm that ruined her brightness, but that wasn’t going to keep me from her.

“I’m on academic leave for my book, so I’m not required to be on campus unless I’m teaching. No Thursday classes. I’m very partial to my diner food, though, so this place better be good.”

Her eyes sparkled. “It’s the best. You won’t regret it.”

I knew I wouldn’t regret it.

But I had a feeling that someday she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas’ lecture was inspired by Lesel Dawson’s ‘Lovesickness and Gender in Early Modern English Literature’. It is a fantastic read if you’re interested in sexuality, love, gender, etc. in the Renaissance period.


End file.
